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Nightmares of the Classical Mind by Charles Sheffield We had come to re-animate a corpse. GOG filled the sky ahead of us, eight kilometers long, a dark, silent figure nailed to a giant cross of metal girders. We were silent, too. Vilfredo Germani was taking us to a rendezvous at the center of the crucifix, but until we arrived at the Glory Of God there was nothing to do but gather around the forward screen and stare at the looming figure. "Not a glimmer there," said Celia Germani at last. "Nothing." "What did you expect? A pilot light?" Her father did not turn to look at her. We were less than ten kilometers from GOG. She gave me a nudge in the ribs with her elbow, and a second later her hand crept like a little mouse into mine. She scratched her nails gently against my palm. "That's |
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